I Know How You Feel, a poem
by pgrabia
Summary: Poem based on S. 6 Ep. 22 "Help Me".  House/Wilson pre-slash, angst, slightly AU.  House's perspective as he sits alone in his bathroom with the Vicodin.  WARNING: Talks of suicide, suicide ideation.  Rated T for disturbing adult subject matter.


**Title: ****"I Know How You Feel"**  
**Author:** pgrabia  
**Style:** poem, sort of.  
**Characters/Pairings:** House, narrator. (Refers to House/Wilson)  
**Warning:** Spoilers for season six. Mention of suicide.  
**Rated: T** for suicide ideation and mature subject matter.  
**A/N:** Just something I wrote recently when I was thinking about my life after watching House episode 6:22-"Help Me" minus the atrocity of the last two minutes of the show. It's just a bunch of depressed drivel, probably the suckiest thing I've ever written so if you're actually reading this, don't say I didn't warn you.

**I Know How You Feel**

Sitting alone, wishing the entire world  
would just melt away  
and take you with it.  
In pain in ways you can't describe  
and knowing that not  
a single person  
cares.

You see life slip out of your hands.  
Death cares not about  
how hard you tried to  
preserve her life and save your own.  
It was all futile.  
Her fate was set, like  
yours.

You don't believe in God or fate.  
You tell yourself that.  
Because if they do  
exist then your life isn't worth  
the effort for God  
to listen to your  
pleas.

Everything in life is random  
and you are not the  
the abandoned son,  
and your misery  
isn't something that Something cruel  
has planned in advance  
for its personal  
glee.

Yet here you are once again in  
bitter solitude,  
pathetic and weak.  
The one you love doesn't want you.  
What else is new? He's  
pushed you away once  
more.

He doesn't need you, he's moving on.  
He has life and love  
and he won't miss you.  
He's leaving you as in the past  
like one leaves the dead.  
Maybe you _should_ be  
then.

You look at the pills in your hand.  
A few more would do  
the job, ending pain.  
Ending your pathetic life and  
he won't notice, not  
until Wednesday at  
least.

He'll think that you're resting your leg  
or avoiding work.  
Maybe he won't think  
about you at all if she can  
distract him with sex,  
that favored tool of  
hers!

The sun will keep shining on them  
and their happy lives  
and when he finds you  
on Friday, perhaps, he'll shake his  
dark head, cluck his tongue,  
not surprised that you  
bailed.

They will cry their crocodile tears  
over glasses of  
chilled champagne; they'll eat  
caviar and toast their good fortune.  
The nuisance is gone;  
they are _finally_  
free.

No one has ever cared about you  
enough to mourn you  
or visit your grave.  
You'll be lost in the nothingness  
that's beyond this life  
and that suits you just  
fine.

Swallow the pills and add a few  
more for good measure.  
Why deny them joy?  
He's _only_ your life and your hope  
for some happiness.  
Well, I know how you  
feel.

Make sure that you succeed on the first  
try or he may hide  
you away again  
in the asylum and tell you  
it's for your own good.  
That's the lie she'll sell  
him.

Or, you could throw the pills away.  
Make it difficult  
for the witch to win.  
You _could_ get in his face and tell  
him that you love him,  
and that you always  
have.

What have you got to lose, my friend?  
Death will still be there  
for you another day.  
Force him to choose you, not her or  
he'll lose you for good.  
Put the burden on  
him.

Force his hand, make him face the truth.  
Maybe he'll choose you  
or maybe he won't.  
If you die without finding out  
then you cheat yourself  
of your one chance at  
joy.

This place and those pills will be here  
if things don't work out  
the way that you want.  
You can't return from the grave once  
you've stepped over the  
line from life to death,  
Friend.

Nobody can so let's say you  
give it a try and  
see where it leads you.  
Maybe the luck of the dice will  
go your way for once.  
Life's weird. You just never  
know.

Don't call him first, just go over  
and storm your way in!  
Tell her to shut up.  
Tell him the secret you have kept.  
Make him understand  
and ask him to choose  
you.

If it means swallowing your pride  
then swallow it hard.  
Pride won't curl up next  
to you in bed and keep you warm.  
It won't whisper that  
it loves you in your  
ear.

But if you're lucky, he just might.  
I know you're afraid;  
good things don't come easy. There's no God.  
Screw Fate; get off your  
ass and get to it.  
_Go!_


End file.
